Through the long night she quitted not the sufferer's pillow, bathing
his fevered brow, relieving his thirst, whispering comfort to his
troubled spirit. Soon after daybreak Philip sank into a quiet,
refreshing sleep; and Lady Grange, feeling as if a mountain's weight had
been lifted from her heart, hurried to carry the good news to her husband.
She found him in the spacious saloon, pacing restlessly to and fro. His
brow was knit, his lips compressed; his disordered dress and haggard
countenance showed that he, too, had watched the live-long night.
"He sleeps at last, Gilbert, thank God!" Her face brightened as she
spoke; but there was no corresponding look of joy on that of her husband.
"Gilbert, the doctor assures me that there is every prospect of our
dear boy's restoration!"
"And to what is he to be restored?" said the father gloomily; "to
poverty--misery--ruin!"
Lady Grange stood mute with surprise scarcely believing the evidence of
her senses almost deeming that the words must have been uttered in a
dream. But it was no dream, but one of those strange, stern realities
which we meet with in life. Her husband indeed stood before her a ruined
man! A commercial crash, like those which have so often reduced the rich
to poverty, coming almost as suddenly as the earthquake which shakes the
natural world, had overthrown all his fortune! The riches in which he
had trusted had taken to themselves wings and flown away.
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